I still have more to say about my recent travels through Central America. Although as always at this time of year, I find myself reflecting on the three years I spent in Australia.
Many consider sun, surf culture and endless sprawling coastline to be synonymous with Australia. Of course, it has all the above in droves, but it also has frosty winter mornings, ski fields and snow. As we enter the deep dark depths of British winter, I look back at a colder version of the world’s hottest country.
Tasmania is expansive and magnificent yet sometimes daunting. As I stood atop the state’s peaks and battered west coastline, I sensed that I was almost at the end of the earth.
I thought I was hallucinating when I arrived in Bicheno. In the middle of the campsite sat another vehicle exactly like mine: A compact campervan covered in purple and yellow flowers.
In early autumn, Canberra’s political and cultural centre takes on a different hue. Even the deep reds and picturesque rustiness of the trees encircling Lake Burley Griffin can’t compete with the vivid glow of the annual Enlighten Festival.
The heavy contrast of the Blue Mountains’ haze against the rich ochre of the ancient sandstone escarpments isn’t the only disparity in the Blue Mountains National Park.
I wake up slightly disoriented and quickly tug at the zip. A tepid breeze sifts through the tall trees overhead, casting flecks of sunlight on the leaf-littered forest floor.